


These Musings That I Call Poetry

by ETNMystic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Insomnia, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, Trauma, pet death, prescription drug mention, self-hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 74
Words: 10,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: Just some poetry.(Mostly) Very Fucking Dark poetry.I wanna reflect on these.If I get out of this....Poems in this that are not about Suicide, Self-Harm, Depression, etc:-rose under glass. (Debatable. That one's about my insecurity/fear of people thinking I'm too delicate and innocent and overprotecting me. Sometimes I don't mind it, but apparently I did at that time?)-the glare.-The Table of Good Will.-Into Wondyr. (That one is very fucking strange)-Message in a Flute.-A Ribbon's Contemporary.-My Last Blue Rose.-The Difference in Diversity.-Dare to You.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 7





	1. this dark black cloud.

this dark black cloud,

always hanging around me,

never relenting,

never releasing,

never leaving.

some days it’s smaller

and i can see the sun,

even if it’s just a small ray.

but other days,

i can hardly see

the blue of the sky

and all i see is gloom.

i see others around me.

some have dark black clouds.

others don’t.

it isn’t fair.

they can seem so happy

and i cannot.

somedays it obscures my vision

and i think that no one can see me,

no one can miss me,

no one would miss me

if i simply let it consume me whole.

i’d be doing them a favor anyway.


	2. tired.

my eyes sting

and my eyelids beg.

let us down,

let us down, they say.

i don’t sleep much.

the nighttime

is the only time

where i feel peace.

i pay for it in a few hours though

as i try to push through the classes

i don’t feel passion for.

the cycle is cruel

but i deserve it.

i do this to myself.


	3. wanderer.

lost. going nowhere.

where am i?

who am i?

i hear things

but listen to few.

meaningless

what i say is.

the same mistakes

i keep making.

tremble tremble,

my body is

an earthquake perpetual.

a mountain builds

but fate pushes it down.

i build more

and more

and more

and more

fruitlessly.

happiness

always just out of reach

and so I wander,

a fool of life.


	4. scream.

can you hear me screaming?

it’s not aloud.

it’s all inside.

but if you listen

you can hear me crying out.

crying out for relief.

crying out in pain.

crying out for love.

crying out in agony.

i’m banging against the glass

begging to be heard

but no one listens

until i try to decide it’s over.

but this might never be over.

and all I’ll be able to do

is scream

scream

scream

fruitlessly hoping

to be heard.


	5. rose under glass.

a blue rose

who’s trapped on display

a blue rose

who hates her petals

a blue rose

who wants to be red

but there is one obstacle

a glass jar

she’s kept safe and sound inside

a glass jar

delicate keep her inside

a glass jar

let me out

she wishes desperately

let me out

she asks them constantly

let me out

she screams in agony

it does no good

protect her

she’s delicate

protect her

please let me fight

protect her

i’m not a doll

to play with

i’m not a doll

to dress up

i’m not a doll

to keep safe

they will never listen

anger flows in me

they treat me innocent

anger flows in me

won’t someone please listen

anger flows in me

it’s no use

they’ll still think this way

it’s no use

i cannot break free

it’s no use

perhaps they are right


	6. consciousness.

half in half out

reality and dream

here and there

sleep

i need sleep

give me sleep

the numbness makes it worse

as i sit in class

drifting in and out

let me sleep for now

let me sleep for a while

let me sleep forever


	7. fairy tears.

i sit inside myself

my wings sheltering me

as a blanket by a fire

others flit and flutter

with not a care

outside my isolation

where’s the magic?

i ask myself everyday

where it was taken away

you took it away

you and she with the same name

squeezing it all out

i try to have hope

but you stung me deeper

than you think

i can’t go back

but i can’t fly forward

the rocks you left are mountain weights

why did you do it

why did you say it

why did you lie it

corrosive to my self-worth

no magic can cure the hurt

and i strike out

i am kind and sweet

you say i’m not

i am i just hurt

evil fairy

average fairy

nothing fairy

i guess my wings

are useless then

i’ll just clip them and fall


	8. rage.

there’s an inner rage

one that i keep all to myself

because i fear that it’ll hurt you

i let its words hurt me

i let its toxicity corrode me

i let its anger poison me

because it’s the lesser of two evils, right?

better me than you, right?

better to hurt a piece of trash

and not damage a diamond.


	9. misplaced.

someone misplaced me

i'm not where i know i belong

and its heartbreaking

but its so stupid.

its just a place

what's the big fucking deal

but i know i don't belong there

i know i don't fit

and that only makes it worse.


	10. shadow of a monster.

i lurk in the corner

too scared to even ask

if i can be a part of their

group. my shell too

thick to trust many if any.

dont wanna hurt them

dont wanna annoy them

asking for encouragement

just makes me an attention whore

suck it up you bitch

youre not starving or dying

you dont know i am though

starving for love

dying from hate

could a blade really

help take it away

could a bottle of pills

clear me out of their way

thats what you do to monsters

right

sometimes

i wanna sleep all night

or maybe never wake up again

wouldnt everyone be happy then

im not a monster

ive gone past that

a shadow of a monster

a husk of a beast

a hollow walking shell

just might as well

end this living hell.


	11. my life preserver.

my life preserver is deflating

i’ve tried to fill it back up with life

but it doesn’t let me

it just spits it back out again.

it’s tired of keeping me afloat

and somedays so am i


	12. no.

no.

i am not okay

no.

i’m not just sick

no.

i’m not just joking.

no.

i’m not just a night owl.

i am suffering

and the only way i

feel safest to let it out

is through this fucking poem

and no

i don’t think i want to be here.


	13. storm.

people say that I have friends.

people say that I'm loved.

oh yeah, they can say a lot

but they don't know half of it, i guarantee.

i see her, one of my friends.

see her with her other friends.

look at her. they notice when she walks into the room.

they notice when she's feeling sad and actually want to help her.

they don't blame her for feeling sad.

normally she's a sunbeam.

a garden of beautiful blossoms

happy, laughing, kind.

me? the complete opposite.

when i walk into the room, everyone ignores me.

when i walk into a room, no one notices that i'm sad.

no one wants to help me.

they blame me for feeling this way,

blame me for something beyond my control.

i'm a storm cloud to them, here to flood and kill that beautiful garden.

the weed. annoying, sad, dark.

i'm sorry for being the weed.

i'm sorry for being the storm cloud.

you think I want to be?

you think I like it?

i want to be noticed when i walk into a room.

i want people to notice when I'm sad and

i want people to help me.

help me.

please.


	14. ugly.

made in God's image, you say?

oh no.

no. God does not look this ugly.

God is not a monster.

i’m not beautiful.

beauty doesn't cover its face and hide

when it is approached.

beauty shines proudly, yet modestly.

beauty, of which i have none.

it's all gone.

the lights from my eyes and soul and heart

have faded long ago when they knew i was ugly.

i’m a monster.

and they know it.


	15. im sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sorry.

im sorry about myself

im sorry im not

kind enough

smart enough

pretty enough

talented enough

confident enough

happy enough

social enough

good enough

im sorry

that i take things so sensitively

im sorry

that my emotions control me

im sorry

that i want to hurt myself

im sorry

that i feel beyond help

im sorry

that i cant read subtle cues

im sorry

that im socially confused

im sorry

that i seek others’ praise

im sorry

that i want to end my days

im sorry

that im so fat

im sorry

that i don’t look like that

im sorry

that i have acne scars

im sorry

that im not among the stars

im sorry

that i hope for tomorrow

im sorry

that i let myself drown in sorrow

im sorry

that your standards ill never pass

and im sorry

that i cant write a stupid fucking poem for class


	16. elegy of depression.

Empty.

almost.

not a sound

save for the ticking of a clock

in the farthest corner.

i still in my loneliness

wondering what had gone wrong.

a thought comes to my mind,

one which became

now common for me to think of,

i’m a failure.

i pull my sleeves up,

my fingers are at the ready.

on the skin i push.

rush back and forth

up and down

fast.

quick.

sharp.

scratch.

scratch.

oh, it hurts.

it hurts alright.

but i don't care because

this is what i deserve,

what I get for failing myself.

i deserve the hurt

Hurt.

the after pain makes its home

upon and within my arms.

tears fall from my eyes.

this is what i deserve.

no.

don't

tell me that happiness is a choice.

don't

tell me to think positive.

you are not my conscience.

i don't want you

to tell me what to do

i just want someone to listen,

someone to be there for me,

someone to hug me

and tell me that

everything will be okay.

someone who cares about me,

someone who will make me feel whole again,

when i cant make myself feel that way,

when i can no longer smile.

Smile.

a way to hide yourself,

a built-in mask,

i tell myself “just fake it until you make it

they don't really care about your problems anyway

they have their own

but you're the only one who deserves yours"

deceit.

trickery.

mere child's play.

yet hiding so much underneath

sorrow.

suffering.

pain.

grief.

even a past not yet discovered,

not even by the owner itself,

as they watch on

forced into silence.

Silence.

i look down at my arm,

scratch marks stinging.

i smile--no my inner demon smiles--at my success.

“why are you so sad anyway?" she taunts.

“you have such a great life.

you have everything.

and yet you're so greedy.

greedy people don't deserve to live."

it's a daily struggle.

no.

a fight.

a battle.

a war.

she stabs her swordsman

in my self esteem,

tears the bits in bits.

i try to patch it back together

and yet i fail.

time after time i fail,

to put it back together.

“you had so much hope," she torments.

“and yet it was thrown away.

this is why you shouldn't be happy.

happiness only hurts you.

there's no happiness in ending it.

take that route.

take it now.

what are you waiting for?

you're becoming more

and more worthless

by the second.

just end it all now.

end a vessel of uselessness.

of worthlessness.

of helplessness.

of invisibility.

Do it before humanity ends itself because of you."

“shut up!"

a scream falls from my mind's mouth.

it's a daily occurrence.

and i want it to end.

End.

the slip of a rope.

the crack of a gun.

the slit of a knife.

the swallow of a pill bottle

can end it all.

no.

don't think such thoughts.

you're worth living.

“are you really?"

the she-demon returns.

“yes. i am."

forceful,

yet unbelievable to us both.

We both know how it will go.

“worthless,"

she spits this word at me constantly,

attempting to implant it into my mind,

and it works.

i work

to hide this from people.

People.

in a room full,

i dare not cry,

only smile.

only mask.

Never show tears.

"Its a sign of weakness," she tells me venomously.

“people will pity you

friends.

family.

strangers.

there is no one you can trust,

absolutely no one."

no one cares for trust,

only for perfection.

Perfection.

i want to prove

i succeed at something,

having once much hope

that I would make it

and then,

like the flame of a candle,

it died.

i'm terrible.

a failure.

i don't want to be pitied.

i don't want to be pitied

just for being who i am,

for being what i am,

a failure.

i'm sorry

that i am not at your standards.

im sorry

that i am useless to you.

tell me not please what i already know,

okay?

Okay.

i try to convince you

that i am fine,

despite the tears

in my eyes,

and the stains

on my glasses,

despite the scars.

and red spots.

and bite marks,

on my arms.

despite my

desire to die

i am fine.


	17. fandoms are a therapy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Porn mention, smut mention, emotional abuse, the like

depression’s kicking my ass

even with my medication

i can’t focus on

what needs to be done

can my mind just pick something

to do already?

i keep wishing to paint my skin red

in the hopes that it will turn my focus

to something else

other than this goddamn dark blanket

i just want to sleep

sometimes for good.

but are there fandoms in the afterlife?

fandoms.

what are fandoms?

what are fans?

fanart?

fanfiction?

people scoff at fandoms

we get stereotyped as writers of porn

porn artists

while there are those

that’s not me

that’s not a lot of us

why can’t i get this blanket off of me?

they call it unproductive

they call it unoriginal

but they don’t realize

for some it is pinnacle

and mentally critical

to find those like us

who obsess over books

and movies

and TV shows

and web series

and plays

and musicals

and video games

and celebrities

how can you say

that fandoms are a waste

when you probably don’t know

that it’s Rosanna Pansino

whose videos make me smile

even on the worst days

when my depression chooses me

as its obsession

why do you believe

that fandoms make me

so anti-social when

you don’t even know

how many people I’ve met online

is making friends really such a waste of time?

what makes you think

that we’re perverted

and creepy when self-inserts

and second-person fics can help

someone suicidal

do you still think they’re not worthwhile?

we’re fucked up to be sure

but not in the way you think

those who wield the paint or the ink

often suffer depression or anxiety

or some combination ungodly

i mean come on

would you rather have your kids

write and draw their OTP

or indulge in drugs and unprotected sex

if you say the latter

you need to rethink your priorities

because if you want your kids to end up in rehab

then should you really even have kids to begin with?

when i get on discord

or ao3 i know

that there’s often something

waiting for me

to read

or see

or rp.

i know there are

people to talk to

about how fucked up I feel

how i wish my depression wasn’t real

how i wish i could cry

how i want to maybe……die

i know i can find support

which i felt short of

when i was growing up

i still feel like i’m not enough

but my fellow fan people say otherwise.

i can say “fuck you”

to the girls who i thought were my friends

but emotionally abused me in high school

i can say “fuck this damn bullshit”

to all of the damn therapy i had to go through

i can say “go suck a motherfucking dick”

to the social skills classes who made me feel

like i was always in the wrong

and i can write about shit

that no one outside of the fandom

will care about

but fuck them

it’s my writing not theirs

i can indulge in the AU

i created where at least 10 beings

are in love with me

which is a shit-ton more

than in real life

where i, a dumbass bitch, accidentally unleashed

a cursed deity who looks like

a fucking Cthulu Squidward

who is now madly obsessed with me

where i’m the hero and not in the background

where i fight the things that keep me held back

where i fight my demons with people i admire, people i would not otherwise

where i have magical fucking powers

where i can feel and believe I’m cute

and a cinnamon roll

where i can bullshit the lore only to make

some weird-ass abstract connection to

some events or other.

where this Cthulu Squidward admires me

where he just wants me to be happy

where he doesn’t want me to die

where to him me committing suicide

would be the worst fucking thing in the world to him

where he wants my innocence to stay

so i can once again feel carefree

where he wants me to marry him

where he wants the barrier between fiction and reality to fall

where he ends up in my mind constantly

even when i don’t want him to be

where he tells me he can never leave me

where he tries to form me, mold me

into something i don’t want to be

where his presence or even a mention

makes me feel afraid

where he doesn’t respect my boundaries

where he threatens to cage me, his little pretty songbird, even though fuck that shit

i wanna fly free

where even though he tries to soothe me when i cry

he threatens to make sure my friends die

where i can make apparent and make use

of the emotional abuse

that i fucking wish i had figured out

a damn year and a half before high school ended

but my social idiocy and their “kindness” blinded me

damn it why was i such a fucking idiot?!

god, save the memories

save the fics and art please

smut is not all we’ve got

give us a chance

we can offer a lot.

cause this shit’s helped me

Gabbie Hanna’s been open

about her anxiety and depression

telling others no, you’re not alone

Safiya Nygaard’s weird fashion and beauty challenges show that fashion isn’t just the mainstream and can be weird as fuck

Matpat's game and film theory shows show that

intelligence isn’t just in academics

it’s in everything

the cinnamon roll Rosanna Pansino

merges food and nerd culture

to those girls, like me, who think their bodies are ugly

and those sweet girls who think they can’t indulge in those sweets

Ro’s a major foodie and she’s still petite

it’s metabolism, damn it.

it’s not your fault.

And Joey Graceffa’s Escape the Night

has brought together artists and authors

who theorize what will happen next,

and we still love it even if each season only premieres in the motherfucking summer.

so yeah i’ve got medication and shit

but medication can’t give me the hit

i get when the words of my AU

flow onto the document and come up

with a new event that someone will

enjoy and now write it from their perspective

so now what the fuck do you believe?

do you still believe fandoms are something no one needs

or do you now see

that fandoms are a therapy?


	18. the glare.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true event. Wrote this right after it happened.

i saw my old creative writing professor tonight.

how wonderful.

i so missed her low nasally-mouse voice.

her dusty spider-web hair.

her wrinkling pink and orange flesh.

and gloomy wardrobe to match her attitude towards my writing.

when she missed that a white nightgown

becoming tattered and dirty

was a fucking metaphor.

when she lost her shit and cut class out early

because no one raised their hand to answer a question.

when she gave me a D on my final.

the lowest grade i’d ever gotten in an english course.

i glared at her as i listened to the poet read some of her work.

why did you tell us we couldn’t write anything but realistic fiction?

why were you so condescending to us?

i wanted to deck her for what she put me through.

once it was done, i glared at her once more,

subtly flipped her the bird again,

and left.


	19. make up.

when i was a child i was told

that what i did was wrong

and that who i am is wrong

i-s-o-l-a-t-i-o-n

that was how you spell my childhood

having few friends if any at all

now i am older, i feel

i have an assignment to make up;

be showered with love

be encouraged to be me

be adored like i wish to be

is a princess life really for me?

maybe if i was someone else

then perhaps i would finally

be able to complete the assignment.


	20. roar.

can you hear me?

can you hear my roar of pain?

if you do then why

do you never say anything?

are you trying to say you’re just done?

are you afraid of the monster

that i’ve become?

i don’t blame you

i’m scared of this monster too

i’m scared of the injuries

and the cries of “i want to die!”

hear me roar

hear me roar

just hear me fucking roar!

i promise i won’t hurt you

i’m too busy hurting myself

i promise i won’t hate you

i saved that for myself

this monster’s taken over

my life is over

so why won’t you let me end it?

why won’t i let me end it?

why won’t life let me end it?

i can’t think straight

i’m too busy trying to

push through the tarry fog

that sticks to my vision

i don’t think i can push through

so i’m sorry that i’m failing you.


	21. The Table of Good Will

Never has there been an empty place

at the table of good will.

In the beginning, everyone finds their place.

They share accordingly,

they share equally.

We are but small and naive as the worldly gods claim.

As we age, some of us decide to leave.

Those of us who remain

decide to see how they are getting on.

Their minds are riddled with

anger, lust, greed, gluttony, cynicism,

for the wordly gods told them it was the only way to survive.

We all grow old,

some of us remain at the table of good will,

smiling, laughing,

while others decide to follow those who have left.

Then they die, face what they have done.

And they realize their wordly gods were mortals too.


	22. bitter shadow.

dark.

i sit here in my own corner

with nothing-no one-to talk to

save for the thick, empty blackness

that surrounds me.

i’ve become a shadow-

a bitter, angry silhouette-

and does anyone mourn?

does anyone care at all?

they claim they do,

but is it so as to blind me further?

is it merely to make me feel accepted

so i shan't ask once again?

i am now afraid;

afraid to approach a potential friend

only to lose them completely if they

discovered the afflictions in my mind.


	23. The One I Lost.

I walk along the long-shored beach

as winds of sand sweep just above my feet.

A place where tranquility settles upon the shoreline

like a blanket on a warm bed.

The sunset, though waning, still lingers,

The colors of our fondest memories

reflecting on the ocean

as light shines through an ornament of glass.

As I stroll along, I find the place on the beach

where we sat together and watched the white horses

glide up to the surface before

they dissipate as quickly as they came.

Here is where I place the lily I picked for you.

A beautiful flower for a beautiful person

and yet the way you went was the ugliest of all

and it was because you believed you were a waste.


	24. Into Wondyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I......can't really explain this poem.
> 
> Just a fair warning: I was taking Prozac as an anti-depressant at the time, so that might explain something.

Let us all dance with 

the potatoes of the night

as they sit in their boilers 

wondering about the 

philosophy of the unicorns of Longraia

Or the butterflies of Probolongriana

and how they flutter with simply ten wings.

Let us eat with the frogs of Salutarie 

as they talk of their battalions and chocolate umbrellas

as they serve us the delicious newark yams they took

from the dragonflies of Sangrity as they stole the prince's child.

Let us sing with the birds of Ilbertynuia

as they fly roungst the flowers nearby calling

"how do you? very well thank you."

and tip the hats made of rare novanian velvet and

Truscottian leather.

Let us play with the young spiders of Solutoryna

as they spin us dresses for our coronations

into the kingdom of Wonderwyll.

Let us go, you and I,

and rule together in a lovely new land

Take my hand.

Take

my

hand.


	25. The Darkening.

Sky. 

In the blink of an eye, everything is lost. 

Lost to darkness.

Even the sky cannot sustain light forever.

Blood.

Coursing through my veins as I wait until midnight.

Midnight; when death is least suspected.

When most have gone in slumber. 

Knife.

The metal sends chills through my nerves as I hold it to my skin.

Skin that I find myself hating.

Wishing that it had never existed. 

Death.

Midnight comes and I waste no time.

Time; is my time up? I wonder. 

But soon all consciousness is lost.


	26. death.

is it better on the other side?

is the grass greener?

the grass is darkening where i am

as is my sense of reality.

darkness is all i see

all i feel is misery.


	27. petals.

if i cried petals instead of tears

people might take note,

as petals are pretty

and i look shitty.

i can’t think straight

and i can’t keep on task.

don’t pity me.

if you don’t care

then please just hate me.


	28. death of a soul.

among the fog of dark and sorrow

stands the light of all tomorrow

i reach out to touch the light

but i soon pull back in a fright.

what if i get hurt again,

who can i go turn to then?

abandoned by all hope and light,

my soul shrivels no longer bright.


	29. toy in a strange world.

pain is desperate silent danger.

everyday seems to get stranger.

stranger has become the normal,

this life has yet to greet me formal.

i used to have those that i love,

thought trouble i was far above,

but soon those hands they let me slip,

and then from there i took a dip.

i cry for help, they offer joy,

to them i’m merely just a toy.

no one listens, no one learns,

they all just want to watch me burn.


	30. a spark too late.

as years go by i seem to find

i’m almost always left behind.

no one lends a helping hand,

so how else can i learn to stand?

my head is spinning full of dark

all i need’s a single spark

flick the match and light the fuse

and pray it’s something i can use.


	31. injury.

all i want’s a tiny cut

perhaps to keep the demons shut.

if pain is outside could i find

some long-forgotten peace of mind?

a blade, some scissors, perhaps a knife

might add some feeling to my life.

right now this is all i feel

so give me pain i know is real.


	32. waters.

the rivers cross the wide terrain.

why they go they don’t explain.

i’m just trying to steer myself,

and sometimes i call out for help

but who is even there to listen

while on my face tears shine and glisten?

i’m floating down a river of hell.

should i jump in? i might as well.


	33. death's curtain.

pain just rests on my inside.

right past me all life’s joy glides.

death i know is merely certain,

so why can i not drop the curtain?

i’m kept out of the way to death,

no chance to take a final breath.

there are somedays i wouldn’t dare

but then i think no one would care.


	34. unloved.

can anyone hear me?

i’m crying out for someone

to listen, to tell me it’s okay.

i’m sorry i self-deprecate

but i can’t help it.

it’s hard to love myself

and sometimes impossible.

and somedays i feel so alone

and so unloved.

maybe those are what’s real

and hope is elusive.


	35. glass box.

it’s hard being in reality.

there are days that I feel alone

like no one sees me or cares about me.

it’s a glass box.

if my isolation is an illusion

please help me shatter it.

there’s nothing i can use on the inside.


	36. I Am No River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, she's bringing out the edgy emo diary from high school. Now shit's getting real.

I be not free

of sin or shame

or a loss of innocence

that once was.

I do not flow freely.

My path is shaped by those

whose claim to the society of deities

is false.

Why do I let it so?

For I am weak and plain.

Would it really matter if there was one less river?

One less waste of space?

But I'm too weak to say adieu.


	37. Message in a Flute

Everything holds a story.

For the flute is why he is;

for such detail he holds.

In his notes sends a message.

It is one that cannot be heard simply,

but more rather felt with the heart.

Even the heart; she holds a tale 

of great feats and battles 

that forms man into

what he has become. 

It is the destiny of humanlike

to continue every tale

as they were told it.


	38. A Ribbon's Contemporary

Threads upon threads

of an unheard song

strum over one another

as it is being sewn.

A delicacy blushing in gold

with knowledge that she

is destined for greatness;

be it mighty or minute.

She is a flattened man,

only much more optimistic

of what her future holds,

for it is one of greatness 

and the absorption of knowledge.

Mankind ought to follow her example;

for they are destined for such greatness

among the stars.


	39. Angels in Disguise

She be blazed with red,

for she has not received

the healing she gave.

He falls into 

an artificial drowse

as he has forgone his slumber

for another.

She be sewn with a smile

only to conceal

the broken frown.

He loves all,

though none seem

to love him.

Martyrs and Angels of the contemporary;

and yet it is not so easy to see

the damage these guardians have held 

in secret.


	40. Immortalized in Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it sad? Is it happy? Is it both? Take your pick.

The greatest sufferers

are the heroes of all.

As the demons invade 

and destroy her for good,

she is a martyr to those

whose cries to be relieved

of these demons 

are left unheard.

Now day and night pass,

but not a moment 

shall she go forgotten;

the saint takes the ultimate air.

Soon she is gone,

lest never forgotten.


	41. Reformed Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is basically an angsty "fuck you" to my social skills classes.

It does me no good

to be in there.

We learn to

categorize,

label, 

judge,

and such the like

that it goes against my morals.

They imply we are disabled.

Some have turned cagey

while some still rebel.

God, help me.

I don't need this.

I know I can function in the world;

if only I could get 

just one chance to prove it.

Just one chance to reform to freedom.


	42. Ode of a Proziac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, I wrote this when I was taking Prozac.

Why on earth do they think

it'll fix me?

All it does is make life worse.

The quickest way to fix something

is the best way,

according to this country.

But it can never fix me.

I don't think they realize

I was broken a long while.

Still am.

I can't be fixed.

Don't they realize it's a waste to try?

This pill breaks me further,

as if I could be damaged further.

And aside, it's my blame.

I damaged, destroyed myself.


	43. The Little Black Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from my angsty, emo diary from high school.
> 
> Not to be confused with the first installment in this: this dark black cloud.

It will never go away,

that little black cloud.

Though on somedays,

it's more gray than black.

But that's if the time is right.

Alright.

I'll never be alright.

The cloud follows me everywhere,

blocking the sunlight that once shone.

It turns blacker the gloomier life.

Someone-anyone-I beseech you,

help me destroy this cotton creature.

Bring the bright light back

so maybe I could try to act alright.

I'll never be alright.


	44. identity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling uncertain of who I am.

an identity has slipped

i don't know where. 

i'm a brain in a body

and that's all i know.

is there one trapped deep in me

screaming to let them out?

i wish i could but i don't have a key

are you lost within me?

where is the cage you're being held in?

who put you in there to begin?

did i do this?

is this my fault?

did i push my own identity away?

did i throw out my own mind's map

the guide of my thoughts?

is this the small child

i was forced to shelter away at a young age

because of being told who i was

and how i did what i did was all wrong?

can i pierce my heart?

dig deep to grab your cage?

set you loose?

but wouldn't that kill me too?

then i'd be lost once more

only would it be better

or would it be worse than before?


	45. tired again

tired

drained 

exhausted

even from what I love.

so that is why this is a short poem.


	46. Windmill Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found some odd poetry that I wrote on my iPad and I airdropped them to my laptop. So here's one that's debatably dark, but also not.

Out of place.

No where to go,

my life constantly drifts from one place to the next

like the petals of a dying rose.

And like a dying rose, I lack beauty

in every conventional sense,

but in my sadness,

there must be something beautiful;

something worth telling the world.


	47. The Unappreciated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my Creative Writing course last semester.  
> The prompt was to begin and end a poem with the same line.
> 
> (CW: Suicide, bullying, hiding emotions)

Hanging from the ceiling.

Beautiful.

Lively.

Lighting up the room.

Bringing joy to those nearby.

Some don’t like.

Don’t care, right?

Keep bringing to joy to those nearby.

Loves to be by the window

watching the sunset and sunrise

Everyone else says “so full of color!”

Some try to change.

Some try to redesign.

Some say “ugly.”

“How ugly."

Doesn’t……

Doesn’t….matter right?

Just bring joy to those nearby.

Bringing laughter and love

So full of life.

But some knock down

to the ground.

“Not needed.”

“Such a waste of space.”

“Could do so much better.”

“Not enough.”

Never enough….

It’s……

It’s…….nothing, right?

Just bring joy to……..

One day it’s enough.

a hook is all that’s needed,

a rope is all that’s needed,

a step stool is all that’s needed,

a kick is——

The ones nearby find

sadness is inside

but only too late.

I can’t help but stare

with my throat closed tight

and tears in my eyes,

as I see her lifeless body

hanging from the ceiling.


	48. The Groom With No Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Betrayal, manipulation implications, poverty)

I close my eyes.

As they fit my dress.

Today is my special day.

And I want to look as beautiful

As you say I am.

They tell me to open my eyes.

I gasp in awe at the work.

They made my dream dress.

The dress that I've been dreaming about

Since I was small.

And just in time too.

For the wedding starts soon.

You come out with your back to me.

I try to see your face

But you keep walking away from me.

As the organ plays, you head to your spot.

I wait for the bridesmaids to make their way through.

I'm anxiously excited for this moment.

I'm certain that I had picked

The right man to marry.

I head down the aisle.

You face away from me still.

I hurry down the aisle.

I grab your shoulders

And whirl you around to face me.

I gasp in shock.

It's you alright.

At least I'm sure it's you.

Your face does not show

In my eyes.

I hear a cough behind me.

Another girl is wearing a bride's dress.

Your face shows as soon as your eyes meet.

I realize why

And I collapse into tears.

Everything begins to turn black.

My dress falls apart and replaced with a torn nightgown.

The church dissolves into shadows.

Everyone I try to find comfort in

Dissolve into black nothingness.

My eyes snap open.

Tears stain my dirt-infested cheeks.

I remember that it was all a trick.

You played with my heart

Then robbed me of everything.

Now everyone I see has no face.

Not for me, only for themselves.

They don't care for a dirty woman.

A woman whose heart had been broken

And casted into the streets.


	49. My (Not So Much Of A) Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm transferring some of my poetry from storywrite over to here. Maybe this can become an anthology of my poetry.
> 
> (CW: Insomnia, lobotomy mention, knife)

I was an insomniac many a time.  
  
Each night, I tried to sleep and dream, but dreaming was a hellish fairyland.  
  
Like one night, I was a piece of wood that went through painful petrification.  
  
I felt surprisingly calm, however, as if someone had just lobotomized me.  
  
It seemed like I could fly up high into the air.  
  
Someone strapped me to a chair and made me watch unnatural television.  
  
They gave me a bucket of bitter-sweet chocolate to eat while watching.  
  
A meager amount I received, though.  
  
Then a mermaid came in with a knife.  
  
It was colored a maroon-like hue.   
  
I felt a sharp pain and I woke up soon after.  
  
But forever fell asleep to a hypnotic lullaby.


	50. My Last Blue Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before I read "The Glass Menagerie," by the way.

She stands silent within the thickening throng  
Of flowers fighting for my attention.  
Their pretty petals cannot compare  
To her sweet smile and helping heart.  
  
Fate traces the perfect paths of life  
So that ours may meet in such a way  
That a beautiful bond blossoms  
Between blushing beauties such as she and me.  
  
Her sweet smile spreads unto me.  
That beautiful voice makes many a man sigh.  
Her hair; as red as a lovely leaf in late September.  
But none compares to her perfect personality.  
  
Such a sweetheart is a beautiful blessing to me  
Since September, when our ribbons intertwined  
And crossed in such a wonderful way  
That the bond cannot come undone.  
  
September hath turned my thicket of loneliness  
Into a life of unbelievable blessings.  
In that month of many things, I was blessed by the beauty.  
But I did not find the flower; she thankfully found me.  
  
However the ribbons must go their separate ways  
For our time together is fleeting as is the year.  
Oh, but please keep me in your heart, dear girl  
For you are my last blue rose.


	51. The Difference in Diversity

They say that no two snowflakes are alike.

Yet, in theory, they are the same.

They are snowflakes; identical

Nonetheless, each one is unique.

Likewise, no person is alike

And yet, we are the same.

We are human; identical

Nevertheless, diversely unique.

We take pride in the diversity

Of these white-winged, winter wonders from the sky

And yet, we frown upon the beings, the humans

That are different from us.

Aren't we all just like the winter white angels?

Identical in species

Yet each of us unique

In our own beautiful and wonderful way?

I ponder to myself

The very question

Of the difference in diversity

And how we perceive and treat it.

Why do we adore the pretty patterns

Of the winter white from the sky

Yet we ridicule and frown upon

The individuality in other people?

Why do we take pride

In how different snowflakes are

While we shamelessly mock the differences

In our own kind?


	52. The Darkening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Blood, death)

Sky.

In the blink of an eye, everything is lost.

Lost to darkness.

Even the sky cannot sustain light forever.

Blood.

Coursing through my veins as I wait until midnight.

Midnight; when death is least suspected.

When most have gone in slumber.

Knife.

The metal sends chills through my nerves as I hold it to my skin.

Skin that I find myself hating.

Wishing that it had never existed.

Death.

Midnight comes and I waste no time.

Time; is my time up? I wonder.

But soon all consciousness is lost.


	53. I Cannot Cry Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Toxic family, emotional abuse)

Emptiness and sadness.

Those are all I feel nowadays.

But the home is not a place

that accepts it.

I cannot cry here.

I cannot cry because it means weakness;

something the ones who

dub themselves blood relations of mine

make to prey on.

I cannot cry here.

They deliver disrespect and emotional

warfare at my mind and my self-esteem.

It fills me with

anger,

sadness,

rage; but

I cannot cry here.

They claim to love me.

To care about me.

But how can they say such a thing and soon

turn against my self-worth,

crushing it all?

I cannot cry here.

Do what we ask, they say.

Do what we ask and happiness will come, they claim.

No. I cannot. It isn't true. I feel nothing

and everything.

I cannot cry here.

The emotions follow no rules nor procedures nor are

bound by what is right and wrong.

I am bound in my head;

Bound to the empty.

Bound to the melancholy.

I cannot cry here.

Is there a way out?

I wonder it quite often if some other place

does not destroy those who suffer much

in silence; but

I cannot cry here.


	54. Borderline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: It's really dark and unsettling, read at your own risk.

Life.

There's no reason for life's become too much I've become too much of a burden to everyone around me I see happy faces and I wonder

how can I be so happy when all the time I sit in sadness that I can't get out of as it's pulling me

down the dark rabbit hole where am I am dead I hope that I am still alive yet dead is how I feel everyday as the earth turns i ask why do I still breathe in and breathe out as the sadness

grasps me like a babe vulnerable and

innocent am I am no more than a shell

full of sadness and the light is fading from

the sky is black and bitter tasting inside of my

mouth speaks words that my mind keeps hidden

secrets of my sadness has taken over my life

makes no sense to me it's a waste I am worthless

wandering my soul has no purpose on this earth

can stand to live without me of course people tell

me it's not the way to go they say they care about me but where is their proof is inexistent to me they lie to me as I lie to them I am okay is the biggest lie I have told the world my story is one that I doubt anyone will read this makes almost no sense comes to my mind rattles out thoughts of death come to my head is full of darkness surrounds my body is full of scars cover me both visible and in this world I feel I am just a sorrowful soul wanders about my husk of a body sits on this earth can stand to lose the worthless girl leaves a trail of blood and sorrow covers my soul can't stand to take the burden is too much crying has flooded my room is covered in blood and tears fall from my eyes cannot see the light is gone away from my heart wishes to stop beating forever and I cannot stand to feel this sadness is a living nightmares plague my mind everyday I feel that I should die right now but I am scared.

Okay? 

I.

Am.

Scared.

To.

Die.

But I am also scared to live......


	55. Dare To You

My mind lives in several different worlds.

I can't explain every single one and no

I'm not crazy.

The mind is a vast expanse of endless thoughts and

if you're like me, endless ruminations.

My mind is an explosion of new worlds

new thoughts and ideas and feelings

does it have structure?

does it make sense?

Who cares?

Sometimes the best sense is nonsense.

Sometimes the best structure is no structure at all.

Feelings run my worlds.

Ideas power the vessel of my mind

and it feels almost electric.

There are some who run on the 9 2 5 train in life

walking day in and day out with no sense of living

but that's not a life for me.

the life I want is a life of endless creativity

and imagination powering my vessel

with creatures people claim don't exist

but do they really not exist

or is it just because no one has seen them?

My friend, seeing is not always believing.

Sometimes it's what we can't see that is the most real.

The things we feel not with our hands but with our hearts

trouble us the most and give us the most joy.

Some ignore it.

Can we see it?

Then it doesn't exist.

What about your brain?

Can you see that?

What about your heart?

Or your feelings?

You cannot see them

yet they exist.

They most certainly exist.

you may call me mad certainly

you may say you are totally normal

but I don't trust anyone

who claims they are completely sane

or completely normal.

no one is,

so why are we deluding ourselves with

this idea of normality?

it is merely

sub

jec

tive.

There is some sadness in me for those who

do not let themselves free from the 9 2 5 train

of life and ride on the side of eccentricity

of color and explosions of ideas!

Imagination is not just for the youngies

my friend

create your own language or your

own color

or your own day of the week

go big

go long

go to lengths you dared never to tread

on the 9 2 5 train.

let your mind fill with ideas and expand

let yourself explore

life doesn't have to be a bore

nor such a chore

don't ignore the folklore

that helped our ancestors survive

the blood and gore

the tales they so adore evermore

down to their core even before

the 9 2 5 train brought the pain

of the layman's way of life.

Dare to explore.

Dare to create.

Dare to you.


	56. Monster

Beasts that crave love are denied it

And the hatred begins to brew inside it.

Until it is a monster.

Rampaging raging ravishes villages

Like a storm, it pilfers and plummets and pillages.

Though it is only inside my mind.


	57. cut.

what does it matter if i cut?

can't they all see i've had enough?

the numbness makes all things mundane.

without emotion i might go insane.

give me one reason i shouldn't cut

perhaps even more if you must,

but in the end, the numb's still there

and if i cut, i don't think i'd care.


	58. The Irish Monarch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Butterflies.
> 
> Oh look! A nice poem.
> 
> Don't expect too many of them.

I fly cross the Blarney Stone  
Kissing it with my wings.  
A delicate creature as I  
Needs speech for many things.

I graze the meadows for clovers  
Ones of the four-leafed kind.  
With all this luck on my shoulders  
It takes into my mind.

I sweep through the farms  
Passing sheep dogs as I go.  
Every once in a while  
I will stop and say hello.

I zoom past the taverns  
To avoid any such temptations.  
With all the black-outs and pass-out  
The alcohol takes from the migration.

I flutter over a little town  
Where a couple walks hand in hand.  
I can feel the true love between them  
As they walk past an Irish band.

I float to the ports  
Where the salty air tells me  
That the Ireland breeze and her sycamore trees  
Are the perfect place for me.

I skim upon the ocean  
It tells me many tales,  
As the mist coats my wings,  
Of Enya and the whales.

As the night draws in  
I gently land upon a tree  
Where my Irish Monarch sweetheart   
Is waiting there for me.


	59. The Autistic Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did this as a spoken word poem for an event once. I might link that video here one day. I did a bit of editing and additions, though.
> 
> (CW: Suicide, toxic friendships, ableism, abuse, read at your own discretion)

I see your support.  
I see your support, your status,   
declaring to the world, “I love someone with autism”  
like it’s some goddamn superpower  
to love people like me. 

I hear you speaking.  
I hear you speaking, about me   
about my life, about decisions that I should   
have influence over, that I should have choice over, but no,  
I’m autistic and I don’t know better. 

I see the puzzle piece.  
I see the puzzle piece, becoming your cover photo  
with the caption “Until all the pieces come together”  
saying that we are puzzles,  
saying that we are broken.

“You’re not my child.  
“You’re not my child, so you can’t speak for him.”  
Okay, but neither are you, Nancy,   
and yet you say that you’ll be his voice, Nancy,  
but you’re neurotypical, Nancy,  
so who’s more reliable on the experience, Nancy?

“It’s not autistic person.  
“It’s not autistic person. It’s person with autism.”  
Okay, then let me call you a person with ableism,  
a person with ignorance, a person who doesn’t realize that we each   
have preferences between identity and person.

You tell me this *flaps hands.*  
You tell me this *flaps hands* is not okay  
though you tell your friends you love me, autism and all  
while simultaneously avoiding vaccines and sending me  
to somewhere where they electrocute me cuz this *flaps hands* is not okay.

“Girls can’t be.  
“Girls can’t be autistic. It’s for boys.”  
Are you sure about that? Because last time I checked,   
I’m autistic and female. So clearly one of us is wrong,   
and I highly doubt it’s me.

"It’s such a tragedy.  
"It’s such a tragedy, you tell your friends  
when we found out they had autism.   
It’s been so hard on the family.” Oh boo-fucking-hoo!  
Try being on the other end.

Try being on the side   
where everything is so loud and bright   
that it feels like your brain is going to implode.  
Try being on the side where you're called “retarded,” “the weird kid,” “future school shooter,"  
and made to think you're less because you can feel more,  
made to think that you aren’t even human.

Try going to elementary school  
and being punched, teased, pushed to tears  
by people you think are your friends.  
Try having teachers telling you that if only you were normal,  
you wouldn’t get picked on.

Try going through a system of Special Education  
of social skills classes that only teach you  
that it’s your behaviors that need to be modified  
because you don’t know how to be like the others  
because your stimming makes others uncomfortable even though it helps your sensory overload.  
because you don’t fit some sort of standard mold.

Try going through classes being taught how to fit that mold.  
Taught only what’s expected and what’s unexpected,  
Taught how to give people space,  
Taught how to be polite.  
Taught how to be compliant.

Taught not to question, because for some reason,   
asking questions about why the presence of a bun   
decides whether or not you can eat a burger with your hands   
gets you reprimanded   
when it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

Watch that translate over.  
Watch that translate into high school  
where they still teach the same damn things  
as if you have no sense of retention  
as if you’re a doll who is forced to listen.

Watch as an autistic girl  
goes to kindergarten in a mainstream classroom  
and finds herself the target of kids, picking on her  
because she’s not like them.

Watch her get bullied in fourth grade  
by a classmate a grade above,  
who kicks at her heels on the way back from lunch  
and the one time she tries to fight back  
gets sent to elementary detention.

Watch her feel frustrated as said classmate  
twists the story to make her sound like she  
was kicking back more  
even though she knows   
she only kicked back twice.

Watch that classmate’s friend   
who was also sent there  
simply sit and watch and listen  
and barely even say anything  
even though she too was there.

Watch her later discover from her sister  
that the classmate bullied her   
because she wanted to be her friend  
and all she thinks is “bullshit”  
because that’s not what friends do. 

Watch as a young autistic woman  
clings onto a friendship that only worsens   
her depression because she was taught   
that any friend is better than no friend.

Watch as the young autistic woman  
is manipulated by those friends and she doesn’t   
know until it’s too late because she was never   
taught the signs of emotional abuse,  
even though that’s a social skill, right?

Watch her have panic attacks because her  
“friends" guilt-trip her and when she tries to  
confront them, it’s turned against her.  
Because of course, it’s her fault she’s feeling left out, right?  
Because of course, it’s her fault that no one’s including her, right?  
Because of course it’s her fault that she’s being treated like she’s not even there, right?

Watch her give those “friends” too many  
goddamn second chances   
because she thinks she deserves to slowly   
suffocate   
because she’s not normal.

Watch her be scared to go off to university  
because those “friends” left scars too deep,  
because they made her wary of who she trusts,  
because the memories make her to want to die again and again.   
Why do you think autism and suicide   
so often go hand-in-hand?

Watch her be so afraid to find  
the names of one of those “friends”   
as an Irene Ryan winner at a theatre festival.  
Watch her feel terrified   
to see that familiar face

Watch all of that trauma build up,  
make her not want to open up,  
make her feel like she should give up  
make her feel like she can’t live up  
to what’s expected.

Watch her wonder how much her rope’s left,  
make her feel that there’s no hope left  
because when she asked the world to please listen  
the world said “hell no."

I see your blue shirt.  
I see your blue shirt with the puzzle piece lightbulb,  
telling people to light it up blue for Autism awareness  
this April, but do you know?  
Do you know what it truly stands for?


	60. mental quarantine.

the world's in ruins

and we're all told to stay inside.

how long? four weeks.

i can handle that, right?

four weeks turns to two months.

two months is turning into three.

now i'm in a new quarantine

and it's inside my mind.

quarantined in a quarantine,

because reality's become a disease.

the media's a carrier

and it's infecting the world twice over.

symptoms? division,

anxiety, fear, looting, hatred.

causes? this pandemic, the media,

and now the riots for an innocent man.

treatment? anything you can think of,

and that's why i'm quarantined,

quarantined inside my mind,

trapped in my thoughts of numb.

prevention? there is no prevention

because you can't burrow

in your mind forever,

can you?


	61. go away.

i can't get you out of my head

no matter how much time has past

you two pop back in at times i don't want you.

don't you know what you did to me?

i thought you were my friends,

but like the stars, they can't stay forever.

except you two were blazing stars,

ones that burned me slowly at first.

how could you know when i was flirting

if i didn't know?

how could you think i owed you an aisle seat?

"think of all the things i've done for you."

then it was her who set me on fire.

yes, you. i told you i didn't know

why i applied, but you were prepared 

to go off no matter what i said, huh?

how could i not be trying to recover

from my constant gloom

when everyday was a battle

for even the tiniest flash of joy?

and you, you said you didn't take sides

but after i told you, while you seemed understanding,

you clearly took her side. i almost always see you two

joined at the hip. so you're a liar, a goddamn liar.

it ended for you after high school,

but i'm still trying to move past it.

still trying to pick up my pieces.

trauma's a bitch, isn't it?


	62. Porcelain Doll

I sit on the shelf. 

I’ve been told I’m too fragile to come off. 

When I talk I’m silenced.

I can only talk if I hate myself. 

They baby me, say that I don’t know better. 

I don’t know who I am

because of who I am. 

They know who I am

because of who they are.

When another doll is shattered or torn apart, 

they blame us porcelain dolls. Even though we’re 

“too fragile”

to come down from the shelf. 

They try to make us not porcelain.

They say we are dolls with porcelain, not porcelain dolls.

They say to the other dolls, “you’re so porcelain”

when they do or say something stupid or “wrong.”

They’re wrong. They’re hypocritical.

How do we damage 

when we are most likely to be damaged?

How do we break other dolls

when we are most likely to be broken?

Would you call a plastic doll a plastic doll

or a doll with plastic?

Would you tell another doll 

“you’re so plastic”

when they do or say something stupid?

Would you blame them for being plastic?

Would you blame it on the paint they’re given

and spread the news to keep other dolls from being painted,

even if no paint makes them look or be sick or dead?

Even though they need to be painted to survive?

Would you make a plastic doll 

wear clothing they weren’t comfortable in?

Would you expose them to loud sounds

if it hurt them?

Would you try to speak over plastic dolls?

Would you say their opinions aren’t valid because 

they have plastic?

Would you baby them because they have plastic?

Would you call them psychos and killers because they

have plastic?

Would you try to burn or break plastic dolls

because they are different?

Would you give them chemicals that 

would melt them,

making them look sick or be sick?

No? 

Of course you wouldn’t.

But then why do you do it all 

to porcelain dolls?


	63. tired once again.

i'm tired once again.

staying up til 4 am

is bad, i know.

but the night's

the only time

that's peaceful,

the only time i can 

get away from the 

meaningless noise,

and yet each sound

from my mouth

is meaningless noise,

but i can't escape myself

without it being taboo.

they won't let me sleep,

at least not forever....


	64. birthday.

isn't this supposed to be a happy day?

then why don't i feel happy?

is it because it's a step to death?

a step to my life's end?

a step to possible cynicism?

am i just overanalyzing my feelings

because i feel i shouldn't get a happy day?

it's not mine alone.

i share it in the family,

so can i even call it a special day?

it'd be better to have a death day.

maybe that day will be special

because i'll make sure no one else who's passed before

will share it with me.


	65. a dark sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Depression, suicidal ideation, suicide)

i'm trapped around an open sea

where the waves around me are rough

and they give me no chance to breathe,

i've got a life preserver, but i know it won't last 

unless i keep refilling it, but my energy is 

wasting away and my lungs are gasping for air,

as i struggle to keep afloat long enough 

for me to inflate it again, and to keep myself 

from getting swept away by the dark tides.

others are out on a beach and they tell me

just don't drown, think floating thoughts,

you're choosing to struggle through these waves.

they see me from a distance, they see 

what's on the surface, but what they don't see

is all the fucking willpower it takes me

to even try to keep my head above the water,

because somedays i feel like it's not enough,

that i deserve to struggle in the waves,

or maybe that i should let myself get swept away

in the dark and ugly waves, 

maybe i should just let myself drown.


	66. the ending

use a semicolon, they say,

your story's not over, they say,

but i'm the author, aren't I?

i'm the protagonist, aren't I?

why do you get to say that my story shouldn't end

when it's me who's writing it, not you?

bad things happen, and i just react to them,

and what if my reaction is to place a period

instead of a semicolon?

what if the story doesn't end happily?

why should i stay if there's no happiness in sight?

why stay if there's no 'happily ever after'?

isn't the protagonist supposed to get that 'happily ever after'?

if i'm the protagonist, where's my 'happily ever after'?

what if it ends in 'happily never after'?

why should i stay if the ever is never?

why should i stay if only despair comes my way?

why?


	67. happy?

it's supposed to be "happy holidays"

or even "merry christmas"

so then why am i depressed

because i know i didn't wish this

stuck inside this fucking house 

and inside of my own mind

and i feel like i'm just staying stuck

i tell myself its fine

this pandemic's got us panicking

and all just stuck inside

merry christmas? where's the merry

if in myself i wanna hide

i feel drained i feel exhausted

i'm decreasing someone's health

but does it really matter when

the person is myself?


	68. jan 11, nearly 3 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts I have at nearly 3 am.

i am lonely

or do i just feel lonely?

am i alone

or do i just feel alone?

why are these the thoughts 

that keep me up at 3 in the morning?

i get empty so easily at night.

the night is quieter

but that gives the self-loathing 

an opportunity to emerge.

what i need is to live in a sanctuary,

one full of unicorns and puppies

that i can cuddle with

and also with my friends and food.

do i have friends?

i do, right?

maybe that could be 

a Discord RP.

no danger or death,

just a sanctuary to express feelings

and feel at peace

and cuddle with unicorns

and talk to fictional characters

and youtubers

and friends

and find a sense of self-worth

and discover who we are

and a bunch of other nice stuff.

can we do that?

please?


	69. lone.

i thought i liked being alone.

a natural introvert thing, right?

and i think i'm still right,

i like my alone time.

but the depression 

and intrusive thoughts

and emptiness,

they have an opportunity

to worm their way

into my head.

there's also being lonely,

feeling invisible

in a room full of people,

feeling silenced

when others ask to hear you

feeling unheard

but people are listening.

it's not always great

being alone.

but being lonely

is so damn draining


	70. numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Pills mention

where's the emotion?

where's the feeling?

the only thing i feel

is that i'm not quite human.

emotions are a painting pallet

and i'm missing several colors,

replaced by grays, blacks, whites;

the colors of darkness and despair.

is there anywhere where i can refill the pallet?

the pills only make so much color,

i want a natural, 

a natural pallet

not a fucked-up pallet.

these grays.

these darks.

these whites.

it only makes the art as numb as i feel.


	71. pieces.

it's three in the morning

and i know it's annoying

but i'm still awake

stuck in a dark bubble

with all of my troubles

taking over my head

and filling it all with despair

and all dread.

all of the things i've done and said

that've turned people away

make them not want to stay

in my life for much longer.

i've been told that i'm stronger

than i think, but i'm weaker

and silent and meeker

than i once was.

but why? because

no one anticipated

that a force has degraded 

my self-esteem 

into what feels like only a dream,

a memory long forgotten

and it's one I've been always wantin'

and i've heard it's broken in pieces;

something's broken it down into pieces.

but the pieces are never there

the pieces, they're never there

does anyone know where

does anyone here care

does anyone here think this is even fair?

while all of the others

have pieces discovered,

mine might be just out of reach

it might always be out of reach.

the pieces of my self-esteem,

faded so long ago; they feel like a dream.


	72. hell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Self-harm, suicidal ideation, alcohol mention, addiction mention)

i'm climbing my everest

and the rope is fraying;

i don't know what to do

to keep it from breaking.

they say if you're going

through hell then keep going,

how much longer can hell be

before i think of throwing

myself in a pit 

an inferno of fire,

where maybe the lava

would be an emotional pyre.

forget bites, forget scratches

and cuts on an arm.

i know that a look 

might just sound an alarm.

i promise it's nothing,

it's not an addiction,

much better than alcohol,

i have self-restriction.

everyday is a struggle

a battle of skill,

some say i can beat it

i don't know if i will. 

my insecurities spring up

and they thrash and they pull

and i'm sorry on us all

they are taking a toll.

2020 looks like heaven

from where i fall.

it's often a struggle

to not end it all.


	73. where were you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (CW: pet death, God mention)

god, please tell me.

where were you when he was suffering,

when i prayed for a miracle,

when i was hanging onto hope?

where were you when he was starting to suffer,

when i denied it was over,

when i called out to you for help?

are you there, God?

he's gone now, God.

man's best friend deserves immortality

more than does humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog of 14 1/2 years passed away today. I don't know how much more I can take of 2021.


	74. all wrong.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Pet death, suicidal ideation.

my dog died sunday.

loneliness monday.

depression tuesday.

anxiety wednesday.

wanna-die thursday.

screaming friday.

nothing's right saturday.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

i hate this.

nothing's right

it's not fair

i'm losing my mind

it's lost

it's broken

i'm broken

i want to curl up into a ball

and

die


End file.
